Muckrakers & Minotaurs: Terra Haven Chronicles Book 3

By Rebecca Chastain

The exciting conclusion of the Terra Haven Chronicles!

Kylie’s everlasting seed is supposed to guide her to the story of a lifetime, but that hardly matters now. Suspended from her position as a journalist for the Terra Haven Chronicle, she can’t publish anything.

However, a stymied career is the least of Kylie’s concerns. Someone is targeting her mom. First, they tried to make her look like a criminal. Now they’re trying to kill her.

Kylie will stop at nothing to save her mom. Unfortunately, the only people who might have useful information are pyromaniacs and prisoners, and they would rather see Kylie dead than help her.

Determined to flush out her enemy, Kylie must follow every lead, no matter how dubious. And this time, not even Kylie’s loyal gargoyle companion, Quinn, can keep her safe...

Pick up your copy of this action-packed fantasy today!

READING ORDER

TERRA HAVEN CHRONICLES
Deadlines & Dryads (prequel)
Leads & Lynxes
Headlines & Hydras
Muckrakers & Minotaurs

OTHER NOVELS IN THIS WORLD
-Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles-
Magic of the Gargoyles
Curse of the Gargoyles
Secret of the Gargoyles
Lured (a newsletter-exclusive novella)
Flight of the Gargoyles

-Terra Haven Holiday Chronicles-
Magic by Starlight (Books 1-3)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Chastain
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734493948

Rebecca Chastain

REBECCA CHASTAIN is a feminist, animal advocate, and nature devotee. She believes empathy is a hero’s trait and love is a motive, an inside job, and a transformative energy that shapes each person’s world. She is the USA Today bestselling author of the Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles series, the Terra Haven Chronicles series that begins with DEADLINES & DRYADS, and the Madison Fox urban fantasy series.If given the opportunity, Rebecca will befriend your cat.Sign up to Rebecca's newsletter for freebies, behind-the-scenes information, and new release announcements: https://www.rebeccachastain.com/newsletter/.List of Rebecca's Books:NOVELS OF TERRA HAVEN*Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles*Magic of the GargoylesCurse of the GargoylesSecret of the GargoylesLured (newsletter exclusive)Flight of the Gargoyles*Terra Haven Chronicles*Deadlines & Dryads (prequel)Leads & LynxesHeadlines & HydrasMuckrakers & MinotaursMADISON FOX ADVENTURESA Fistful of EvilA Fistful of FireA Fistful of Flirtation (newsletter exclusive)A Fistful of FrostMadison Fox Novella Box SetSTAND ALONETiny GlitchesContact Rebecca atwww.RebeccaChastain.comor find her onFacebook: www.Facebook.com/RebeccaChastainNovelsTwitter: @Author_RebeccaInstagram: @chastain.rebecca

Book preview

1

My heart hammered against my rib cage, desperation clogging my throat. Not Airstrong. Please, don’t let it be Airstrong burning. In the still summer air, the column of black smoke billowed high into the sky, easily visible half the city away. The echo of the explosion still rang in my ears.

Hang on, Grant ordered.

I tightened my grip on his belt. Squeezed cross-legged behind Grant on his personal flying carpet, I leaned into the turn as he took the corner fast enough to raise a spiral of dust from the cobblestones eight feet below. Ocher clapboard and a dizzying rush of reflective windows flashed past inches from my shoulder, whipping my hair into my face. I blinked stinging tears from my eyes and searched the horizon.

Grant barked orders into message spheres while dodging low-flying air carts and pedestrians on slower carpets. The elements cupped to his mouth prevented me from hearing his words, but I recognized the magical signatures of his squad embedded in each spell. In seconds, four disparate messages blasted into the air, arcing toward their intended recipients.

A slash of orange burst through the smoke tower, soaring on hawk-size wings. From this distance, I couldn’t pick out the individual black bands on the bird’s amber feathers, but its fiery marigold chest—and its proximity to the burning building—was enough to confirm my worst fears. The explosion was no accident; someone had planted a phoenix egg in the warehouse district and allowed it to hatch.

The carpet jumped, then dipped, and only my white-knuckled grip on Grant kept me from flying off the narrow surface. By the time I stabilized myself, the phoenix had caught an updraft. In seconds, it was little more than a speck against the magenta sunset.

I reached for the elements, feeling for Quinn. No boost amplified my magic. The gargoyle was still out of range. Whereas Grant and I were constrained by the limited levitation of the carpet, forced to zigzag through the streets of Terra Haven, Quinn had flown straight over the rooftops.

I silently willed speed to Quinn’s flight. The people at the explosion site—the hatching site—needed his elemental boost.

The people. The generic term bounced around my head, a pointless attempt at distancing myself from my fear. Mom was the people. Mom had been at Airstrong today, managing her shipping company’s operations. Mom would need Quinn’s special magic. If she wasn’t . . .

I refused to finish the thought, instead resuming my silent prayer. Please don’t let it be Airstrong.

Somehow, Grant muscled more speed from the carpet’s propulsion spell once we cleared the busy downtown district, pushing us to a reckless speed. Emerald Station raced past, the busy train terminal swarming with confusion and defensive spells. More than one person pointed to the sky, either at the smoke or the phoenix. The deadly bird’s hatching would monopolize the front page of every newspaper tomorrow. Despite our mad dash to the scene, I wouldn’t get the scoop, but I didn’t care. The story could go to some other journalist—one not currently suspended—so long as Mom was safe. Please let her be safe.

We careened into the warehouse district, and relief chased the familiar gut-flipping sensation of a gargoyle’s enhancement amplifying my elemental strength. Quinn was close. I drew on his boost, gathering twice as much magic as I’d previously held, prepared to offer aid in whatever form was needed. I no longer had to crane my head to see the column of smoke. It billowed far too close for my earlier prayers to be answered, funneling through a massive water-and-earth ward visible over the rooftops—a spell designed to contain fire. Then we banked around the final corner, and the last of my hopes died.

Airstrong burned.

A cavernous hole had been torn through the corner of the brick warehouse, from the first floor to the roof four stories above it. Chunks of wood and brick from the collapsed upper levels filled the bulk of the cavity at street level. Thick, acrid smoke streamed out the top of the jagged opening and poured through gaping holes where windows had once been.

The carpet shot sideways, the curved horn of a wild-eyed ox tearing through the air inches from my knee. The beast thundered past close enough for me to count the flecks of sweat on its flank, the flap of a torn harness strap whipping against the underside of our carpet. Panicked, the ox veered down the nearest alley, but not before clipping the edge of the brick building, shaking it on its foundation.

Grant slowed, and I jerked my gaze back to Airstrong. The pulverized wooden sidewalk and dozen-foot radius of decimated cobblestones defined the blast crater, but the damage extended much farther. Overturned carts, broken crates, and shattered glass lay strewn along the street in front of the ravaged building. Terrified hippogryphs and horses churned debris underfoot and threatened to trample the frantic riders and drivers attempting to soothe them.

Three buildings down from Airstrong, a trio of men in blacksmith leathers freed a centaur trapped beneath a mangled air sled. Injured and dazed people sat or lay sprawled among the havoc, healers already darting among them. Spells saturated the air, cooling, mending, containing, protecting—and speeding down side streets and over rooftops to carry messages to people beyond the disaster. I clung to Grant’s waist, my gaze bouncing from one bloodied face to the next, my heart in my throat.

Where was Mom?

The oblong ward encasing the warehouse narrowed through the alleys on either side and bulged into the street, preventing the fire from spreading to nearby businesses. The fluidity of the spell’s shape and the ever-shifting magic swirling within it radiated a herd harmony unattainable by ordinary humans. I scanned the ward’s perimeter. A smattering of statuesque figures were posted at even increments along the spell. Each was over six feet tall, female, and as voluptuous as she was large boned. Each also possessed a tan-and-black bovine head. A frisson of hope cut through my panic. Minotaur magic cradled Airstrong. If the minotaurs had reacted fast enough, Mom might be all right.

Grant jerked the carpet to a halt, dropping the levitation spell fast enough to click my teeth together. When he leapt to his feet, my fingers spasmed, cramping into a fist. Spinning, he planted a hand on my shoulder when I tried to rise.

Wait here and be careful.

He jogged off before I could respond, calling out to city guards already on the scene. They readily relinquished control of the disaster site to him. As captain of the city’s Federal Pentagon Defense squad, Grant Monaghan outranked everyone in the vicinity. He also possessed years of experience in the FPD working high-risk situations with volatile magic and deadly creatures. I hadn’t had a chance to ask, but I doubted this was his first run-in with a phoenix. It obviously wasn’t his first time running post-catastrophe cleanup. He quickly began constructing order in the chaos. If I hadn’t been so worried, I would have been impressed.

Quinn dropped from the rooftop behind me, a flash of the late-evening sun reflecting off his citrine lion body catching my eye. Snapping open powerful wings, he slowed his descent, landing with a clatter of quartz paws on cobblestones. His wings kicked up debris and swirled smoke into my eyes, but I didn’t care. Leaping off the carpet, I rushed to him.

Have you found Mom?

Quinn shook his head. I’m boosting her, though, so she’s close. In that direction. He pointed toward Airstrong just as a heavy crash inside loosed a cascade of broken bricks from the front wall. Someone on the street screamed. Fresh smoke gushed out of the roof and high windows.

My heart squeezed tight. A handful of people milled about between us and the warehouse, but Mom was tall, pale, and blond, like me. If she had been among them, I would have spotted her.

I crossed my fingers and spun together a tracking spell with more speed than finesse. Maybe Mom was behind the warehouse, standing safely on the loading dock. To be certain, I tossed a second tracker high into the air. Both golden arrows dove straight into the burning building, disappearing for a breathless count of four seconds before returning through a smoke-choked window. I caught them in a trembling net of air.

Oh mercy. She was inside.

Alive, or my spell wouldn’t have found her magical signature, but something was preventing her from escaping the warehouse on her own. I searched the street for Grant, but he had vanished. I couldn’t delay.

Hang on, Mom. I’m coming. Quinn, you should stay—

I go where you go, he declared.

I shot him a tight smile. Thank you.

Banishing the extra tracker, I anchored the remaining arrow to me, then darted around a spilled bin of used horseshoes and scrap metal, Quinn on my heels. Broken glass and jagged hunks of wood forced me to slow when I wanted to sprint, and I almost fell when my foot slipped in a murky puddle leaking from toppled casks. Quinn caught me, and together we pushed through the ward. For one step, the spell bathed me in an elemental waterfall, cool and cleansing, the acrid odors of charred stone and campfire smoke washed away. Then heat battered me. I gasped, expelling clean oxygen from my lungs and swallowing a mouthful of ash.

Child, no!

The nearest minotaur lunged for me, and I dodged her long reach. I’m going in. Mom’s inside.

Her brown eyes widened when they snagged on the tracker quivering at my side, and her ears stiffened. We missed one, she shouted to the minotaur on her right. Someone’s inside!

The cry was taken up along the line of minotaurs, and their magic shifted, spiraling cool tendrils around me. I gratefully gathered their magic inside mine, forming a pocket of breathable air around myself and Quinn. Then I plunged into the wreckage.

The minotaurs’ magic preceded us across the tattered threshold, pushing aside the smoke. A long, narrow room stretched the width of the warehouse. Yesterday, it had been a peaceful lobby with an assortment of comfortable furniture, large windows to let in light, and an employee’s desk on the far right, where prospective clients claimed and booked shipments. Along the back wall, a sturdy door had guarded the warehouse, separating the lobby from the bustle and dangers of an active shipping yard.

Today, it was unrecognizable. A shadowy mound of rubble loomed on the left, all that remained of the front corner of the building. Thick wooden beams protruded from the floor at disorienting angles, flames licking along their ragged breaks despite the fire-retardant spells coating them. Broken bricks and grit were spewed across the lobby’s encaustic tiles clear to the desk on the opposite side. Molten puddles of phoenix egg residue dotted the floors and walls, providing eerie, flickering lighting. I squinted against the gloom, hunting for the door to the warehouse. It was missing, along with half the wall and the no-trespassing ward that had previously defended the opening.

I flinched away from the splintered front doorway, the heat of the battered frame singeing my elbow through my thin cotton shirt. The tracker blazed bright in the dim interior, its tip pointing toward the remaining section of the back wall. Thank goodness. A bank of offices marched along the opposite side of the wall, accessible only from the warehouse. Beyond the offices stretched the open floor of the warehouse, stocked with shipments awaiting transport or pickup. Anything from textiles to fireworks to cockatrices could be stored inside the warehouse on a given day.

Stay close, I told Quinn.

He pressed to my side, the coolness of his rock shoulder seeping through my jeans. We shoved our way under a crooked board and over a pile of plaster and wood that had once been the second floor. The material cracked and popped beneath Quinn’s weight. I scurried forward, and Quinn leapt free before the wreckage collapsed. Dust and ash billowed into the air.

Swiping sweat from my brow, I formed a glowball and floated it ahead of us, forging a convoluted path through the detritus. The arrow gradually rotated, pointing first to our right, then behind us, but crumpled shipping crates blocked a direct route, forcing us deeper into the warehouse. The minotaurs’ magic weakened the farther we traveled. When it faded completely, ash choked my shield and heat beat against my skin. Darkness pressed in on me, my light unable to penetrate more than a foot or two of smoke, turning the cavernous warehouse into a claustrophobic nightmare. My breath hitched, my pulse thundering in my ears. The groans and pops of burning boards became the rumble of rock above my head, threatening to collapse and bury me.

This isn’t Lunacy Labyrinth, I reminded myself. I don’t have tons of rock above my head.

Just one partially collapsed roof, more than heavy enough to crush Quinn and me both.

Not helpful, I told myself.

A spray of sparks rained from the ceiling, illuminating ghostly shapes in the destruction as they fell. The first two offices were unrecognizable, pulverized under the weight of the collapsed floors above them. My heart migrated up my throat, worry strangling me. The tracker pointed toward Mom’s office at the end of the line. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out if it was still whole. It had been farthest from the blast, but the ceiling might have—

A loud crack split the air above us. Short pops like bones snapping echoed through the building, then the warehouse released a pained growl.

Watch out! Quinn shoved me to the ground. I slammed to my knees, then to my stomach under the weight of Quinn’s paw. Hunkering low, he straddled me, his wings forming a quartz cocoon even as I hardened a ward above us. Something heavy hit my shield and shattered it. Magic backlashed, whipping pain through my brain, and I sucked in an ash-clogged breath. Coughing, I scrambled for the elements. When I shoved a ward against the weight above us, it didn’t budge. Cycling the elements, I attempted to purify the air, but it was too late. All the clean oxygen had dispersed.

Are you all right? Quinn asked, dipping his head to touch his cool nose to my cheek.

I think so, I wheezed. Knitting a mask of water and air, I fitted it over my mouth and refined it until I could breathe through it. Then I replicated it for Quinn. It helped, but my lungs still burned, and I couldn’t suppress my coughs. You?

Quinn flexed his wings, bumping up against solid surfaces on both sides. Carefully, he retracted them. Embers tumbled down on either side of him, following the arc of my ward. When nothing heavier followed, I shimmied out from under Quinn, groaning as pain spiked through my abraded forearms and bruised knees. A wooden beam as thick as my body canted against the demolished crate beside us, one end smoldering red hot. Even more charred and burning timber was piled behind Quinn, where it had slid off his wings. A dim light wavered above us, and the haze of smoke parted long enough to catch a glimpse of crepuscular sky through the fresh hole in the ceiling. The minotaurs’ fire-smothering spell swelled to fill the opening, quelling the rooftop flames.

A curse whispered through the air, the voice as familiar as my own.

Mom! Fresh coughing wracked my body. Hang on, we’re coming for you.

In the thinning smoke, my glowball illuminated a clear path between pallets. Scrambling over a pile of goods I barely noticed, I sprinted for Mom’s office.

The door frame stood, but the wall beside it had crumbled, blocking the entrance.

Mom?

Kylie? Her bewildered response sounded like a prayer.

I see her, Quinn said. He stood with his front paws on the office’s window frame, his face pressed to the miraculously intact pane of glass. Or what I think is her foot.

I swiped soot from the window with my palm and peered into the office.

The right wall had caved into Mom’s office, the busted plaster buried under a pair of heavy bookcases. A cascade of paper and part of the ceiling mounded around the collapse, and beneath all that stretched one of Mom’s legs. A weak ward encased her sprawled limb and disappeared beneath the rubble, the thin elemental barrier the only safeguard preventing Mom from being crushed to death.

We need in, I said.

Quinn punched a paw through the glass. I shot a balance of all five elements through the ragged hole. Mom caught it, combining her magic with mine. The moment the link stabilized, I assumed command of Mom’s ward, strengthening it with earth and wood, taking on the weight of the wall. My knees sagged, and I grabbed Quinn for balance. It felt as if I supported the whole building. Mom’s magic quivered with exhaustion inside our link.

I’m coming in, I said.

No, you’re not, Grant’s deep voice rumbled from behind me.

I levitated, a short scream escaping my lips before I clamped them shut. Gratitude followed close in its wake. The minotaurs must have told him I was inside.

My mom, she’s trapped and needs help, I said, spinning to face Grant. I smacked into the broad chest of an even larger man. Marciano, the wood elemental of Grant’s squad, leaned over me, his trunk-like arms bracketing me. Thick hands closed around my waist, and he lifted me, setting me beside him and blocking my view.

We know.

Link up, Grant ordered.

I gladly accepted the balance of elements he and Marciano offered me, quickly reinforcing the ward around Mom with their added magic. Grant waited until I was finished to assume control.

Marciano’s large hand on my shoulder held me in place while Grant ran a rod of wood element around the window frame, breaking the remaining glass and collecting it into a ball. He set the shards aside, then vaulted into the room. His broad shoulders brushed the edges of the frame, and the wood groaned, but the wall held. Marciano wormed through after him. Leaning back out the window, Marciano pointed at me, then Quinn, then at my feet.

Don’t move.

I rushed to the window, and Quinn stood up on his hind legs to look inside. Grant spun a complex net of air along the undersides of the collapse, supporting the debris with precise magic. In one coordinated heave, he lifted the mass. Magic tugged from me through the link. Alone, even with Quinn’s enhancement, I never would have been able to perform a similar feat of elemental strength.

Marciano swooped under the levitated heap and scooped Mom up in his arms. As seamlessly as if they had choreographed the extraction, Marciano pivoted to face the window, and Grant eased the wall to the floor. I scrambled back to give Marciano room to climb out of the office—a maneuver he managed gracefully only by floating Mom ahead of him. As soon as Marciano cleared the window frame, he cradled Mom against his chest again, holding her as if she weighed no more than a child. Grant exited on his heels. Behind him, the office creaked, the broken wall shifting and settling.

Blood stained the thigh of Mom’s pants, and she was unnaturally pale beneath the fine powder of plaster coating her. Despite her obvious pain, she reached a hand out for me, and I clutched it, relief singing in my veins.

Move out, Grant barked.

Marciano took the lead, and Quinn and I followed with Grant close behind me. Through the link, I sensed Marciano create an elemental filtration mask for Mom. Then Grant resumed control and stamped out flames along our path and throughout the warehouse. I no longer felt Mom’s signature inside the link and realized Grant had delicately disentangled her to reduce the strain on her already taxed body. I glanced back to thank him, but his expression stole my words. In the dim light, the hard line of Grant’s square jaw and the firm slash of his mouth was pure FPD captain. So was his vigilant scrutiny of our smoke-choked route. He looked competent and powerful, with a glint of anger simmering in his brown eyes.

A flush of heat that had nothing to do with our surroundings shot through me.

Inappropriate, I told myself. Mom was injured. Her most profitable warehouse and a major shipping hub of her business was burning around us. Someone had intentionally planted a phoenix egg on the premises.

But the relief of rescuing Mom combined with the heady sensation of Grant’s electric magical signature wrapped around mine in the link entitled me to intensified emotions. Or so I told myself.

Piles of abandoned crates, saddlebags, and loose packages littered the loading platform behind the warehouse. I stumbled through them on Marciano’s heels, coughing as I sucked in clean air. Five minotaurs held the fire-dampening ward on this side of the building, and as we emerged, they sent an all-clear message down their line.

Marciano didn’t slow. Eyes watering, I jogged after him along the narrow alley between Airstrong and the adjacent building. The minotaurs’ magic slid cool across my skin as we stepped into the street. Only then did Grant let our link dissolve.

Most of the building’s flames had been extinguished, but lavalike puddles of the phoenix egg still smoldered among the broken cobblestones and glimmered inside the lobby. Water-laced air funnels pulled a thinning stream of smoke out of the warehouse, where it disappeared against the dusky sky. Soot coated the exterior of Airstrong, blackening the blue winged-A logo painted above the nonexistent door. The upended carts, piles of ruined goods, and shards of shattered glass still obstructed the street, but the animals and most of the humans had dispersed or relocated farther down the street.

Marciano carried Mom toward a thin dark-skinned woman waiting at the edge of the destruction, and she rushed to meet us. An ash-dusted emblem on the woman’s top designated her a trained healer, as did her brisk demeanor. Her assessing gaze scanned each of us in turn, then returned to Mom.

Hold her still, she instructed before sweeping a net of elements over her chosen patient. Mom’s lips tightened, and her fingers crumpled the fabric of Marciano’s shirt as the healer’s complex magic dove into her bleeding thigh. I covered Mom’s hand with my own.

Fractures aren’t my specialty, the healer said after several minutes of delicate spell work. I’ve set the bone and closed the wound, but you’ll need to rest and keep your weight off the leg or visit the healer hall soon.

Mom nodded. Pain no longer etched harsh lines in her face, but her eyelids drooped with fatigue. Rapid healing took a toll on the body, and she was already drained from holding up the wall. I gave her hand another squeeze and released her.

Apparently satisfied, the healer shifted her attention to me. A delicate elemental touch feathered across my skin. You’ve been healed recently.

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. Last night.

With your permission, the healer said.

Again, it wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.

A soothing blend of water and air alleviated the burning in my lungs and soothed my scratched esophagus, the magic so delicate I barely felt it. However, the cobblestones swam in my vision, the expedited healing leaving me surprisingly light-headed.

The healer gripped my shoulder, frowning into my eyes. What were you seen for last night?

Complications with a few spells, I hedged.

She was caught in three banned spells during an investigation, Grant said.

Mom gasped, and I gave her a tight smile. My message to her early this morning had carefully skirted that detail, only informing her I was healthy and home after having located the illegal spells stolen from one of Airstrong’s shipments. I had planned to share the full details in person.

Kylie Grayson? the healer asked. Her fingers settled on my temples. I didn’t recognize you under all this grime.

A flush heated my cheeks. Was she one of the multitude of medics who paraded through my room last night while I was healed? Hopefully the fact that she remembered my name didn’t mean I had achieved any level of fame among the healers. I never wanted to be treated like a medical curiosity again.

We don’t want to push your body too much. Let’s keep this to a minimum, because you’re better off healing naturally.

I nodded. She cleansed the scrapes on my forearms, then mended only the deepest abrasions with a gentle spell that tingled. When she finished, I laid a discreet hand on Quinn’s offered shoulder, bracing myself until the black dots disappeared from my vision.

Anyone else? the healer asked, glancing over my shoulder at Grant. When he shook his head, she scurried off to assist others.

Set me down, please, Mom said. This is becoming embarrassing.

Marciano shared a look with Grant, then lowered Mom to her feet. She swayed, eyes closed, one hand on Marciano’s arm.

Charlotte? Do you need to sit? he asked.

Breathing deep, Mom lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back, and opened her sky-blue eyes. Did everyone get out? she asked.

You were the last, Marciano said.

Tyler? He was in the lobby when the explosion . . .

It was a phoenix hatching, I said.

Beneath the grime, Mom’s face paled. I nodded tightly in response to the unspoken question in her eyes. I knew.

My hand lifted to my breastbone, to the pouch containing a peach-pit-size seed. It was a gift from an everlasting tree in response to my question: Where can I find the story of a lifetime? Following its clues would lead me to the answer.

I had envisioned a noble quest, at the end of which I would pen a grand story that would benefit thousands of people who religiously read the Terra Haven Chronicle. Instead, the seed had pointed me toward firebirds stolen from an Airstrong shipment, then to illegal spells pilfered from this same warehouse. Along the way, my parents’ business had been dragged through the mud, I had been suspended from the paper, and I hadn’t gotten to write a single relevant article.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, my seed evolved to resemble a phoenix egg. Which was how I came to learn early this morning that the FPD and Mom had been keeping a secret: along with the banned spells and firebirds, the thief had made off with a clutch of phoenix eggs from an FPD shipment in Airstrong’s warehouse.

With Mom already under suspicion, my first concern had been to clear her name. If she was found guilty of trafficking in deadly phoenixes, she would hang.

But I hadn’t considered how the thief intended to use the phoenix eggs. I hadn’t thought about the destruction the eggs could wreck on Terra Haven.

I had never dreamed the thief would use the eggs to attack Airstrong.

It was so sudden, Mom said, shaking her head. I was heading to the floor to check on a shipment from Pinkham’s, and then there was the loudest bang, like a train had collided with the building. The wall collapsed so fast. My shield was pure instinct, but I wasn’t quick enough . . . Her hands gripped mine. How did you know to come? Or that I was inside?

I saw the fireball from my place. From the roof, to be specific, where Grant and I had been enjoying a late-afternoon picnic. Quinn had been half asleep, and I had been snuggled up to Grant, savoring his teasing kisses, when the explosion echoed across the city. I peeked at Grant through my eyelashes. All traces of the man who flirted with me earlier were locked beneath his captain’s mask. We came as fast as we could.

Thank you, she whispered. She spread her gratitude between Grant and Marciano, then opened her arms to me.

I walked into the hug, squeezing her tight.

Are you all right? she asked.

I’m fine. I’m more concerned about you.

Worry clouded her eyes when we parted.

Really, I’m fine, I repeated.

She pressed her lips together around whatever she was going to say and knelt to hug Quinn instead. He returned the embrace, gently cupping Mom in his stone wings. When she straightened, she pivoted to face Airstrong, and I realized she had been avoiding looking at the building. Anguish flashed in her gaze, then she shuttered it. Turning away, she squared her shoulders and said to Grant, Captain, I need to see my people, then I need to talk to the investigator.

O’Hara is there, Marciano said, pointing toward a cluster of grimy people seated against a wall down the street. A thin man crouched next to them, a notebook in hand and a recording sphere and glowball floating next to his head. The golden light glinted off his short-cropped gray hair and silver goatee. Like Grant and Marciano, FPD Investigator Hugh O’Hara radiated an air of readiness, as if he expected another attack at any moment.

He better not be interrogating my people, Mom said. They’ve been through enough today. Hands fisted at her sides, she took off at her usual brisk pace. However, her first step stuttered and her nostrils flared in suppressed pain. Grinding her teeth, she continued at half her original speed, her steps soft.

I tried to follow, but Grant’s hand on my bicep pulled me up short. His everlasting seed peeked beyond the cuff of his uniform. Unlike my seed, which hadn’t altered its shape, his had reformed into a sturdy bracelet, locking itself around his wrist. The five matching discs of interlinking black-and-white teardrops could have passed for stone, and any upscale jeweler would have been proud to claim their craftsmanship. Grant hadn’t shared his theories about the seed’s current form. He’d been equally evasive regarding his question for the tree—and curiosity ate at me to find out.

I told you to stay with the carpet, Grant said, yanking me mentally back to the moment.

Frowning, I pulled against his grip. He didn’t release me. He wasn’t hurting me, just holding me.

My mom—

One message, and I would have gotten her. A dark emotion I couldn’t pinpoint smoldering in Grant’s eyes.

Marciano mumbled something about finding Winnigan and his other squadmates. I barely noticed his departure, my glare locked on Grant.

I didn’t know how much time Mom had, and— I tried to articulate the terror I had felt, but Grant didn’t give me a chance.

You’re a civilian without an ounce of training. You put yourself in unnecessary danger—

"My mom was trapped inside a burning building," I said too loud.

And I was right here, Grant growled. What if something had happened to you?

I took a deep breath, realizing fear drove his anger. Like you said, you were right here.

Grant shook his head, and I had no trouble reading his irritation. Kylie, I can’t—

Captain? Marciano called. He stood next to two women, one petite and redheaded, the other muscular with short sandy-blond hair: Winnigan and Seradon, the water and earth elementals of Grant’s squad. Winnigan spoke with the nearest minotaur, adding her magic to theirs with practiced ease. Around Seradon’s feet, a handful of spells disintegrated sharp blades of glass to sand, but her keen brown eyes monitored our argument.

Coming, Grant said. Frustration stamped his features when he turned back to me.